


But This Bird

by meaninglessblah



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Coming Untouched, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Homework, Intersex Omegas, Literature Kink, M/M, Omega Jason Todd, Praise Kink, References to Shakespeare, School Uniforms, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Masturbation, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29708745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Mr Wayne asks Jason to stay back after class, and assigns him some more homework.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 123
Collections: BruJay Week 2021





	But This Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Written for BruJay Week's Day 5 prompts: Alpha/Beta/Omega (traditional or non) | ~~Overprotective/Controlling | Jealousy~~. The other two prompts are there, you just can't see them. 
> 
> With everything going on, please be aware that this fic romanticises what would be a very unhealthy IRL relationship. I trust that anyone who reads onwards understands the difference between fiction and reality, and is comfortable continuing. If not, perhaps turn back now. Refer to tags for guidance.

Jason’s gotten good at going about a school day like nothing’s awry. He thinks Mr Wayne enjoys knowing why Jason hovers an inch above his chair for a whole day after one of their sessions. Shifting restlessly through his favourite AP English class, unable to meet his teacher’s gaze as he mumbles his way through the readings. 

It doesn’t surprise him when Mr Wayne asks to see him after class, so Jason hangs back after the last bell, fidgeting in his uncomfortable shorts as the other boys file off to the dormitory. 

He doesn’t complain, when Mr Wayne pushes up from his lean on the wooden desk to approach Jason at his. Keeps his gaze on the neatly ruled pages, the pretty scrawl in his handwriting. Notes upon notes of classical critique. 

His teacher doesn’t sit, but he does lean back against the desk next to Jason. His impressive bulk looks all the more imposing against the small furniture, designed for younger, newly pubescent alpha boys with rich parents and mediocre grades. Not suited to the muscle and mass of a fully grown alpha, who looks strong enough to pin Jason down with just one arm. 

Jason knows, better than most, just how accurate that assessment is. 

He tries not to fret, dropping his hands into his lap as he waits for Mr Wayne to speak. Doesn’t dare venture a guess as to why he’s being held back when he knows his grade is leagues above his classmates’. 

It’s part of the reason why Mr Wayne took a shining to him in the first place. Or, at least, Jason likes to tell himself that’s why. It’s the first excuse the man had given Jason, the very first time he’d held Jason back after class, back at the start of the last semester. 

Jason’s smart enough to know it’s not the prevailing reason, though. He stands out from the rest of the boys, and not just because of his exceptional grades, or his diligent work ethic. 

He thinks it might be something in the way he shrinks beneath the loud tones of a teacher, or gives up his seat in the mess hall too easily, or flinches in the locker room before any gym class, a hundred inquisitive eyes boring into him. Something in the way his secondhand uniform doesn’t quite hide the width of Jason’s hips or the curve of his waist. The way he can’t seem to hide his designation, can’t ever seem to feel comfortable in his own skin. 

Being an omega hasn’t seemed to be an issue before, not when he’s rubbing elbows with a thousand other kids in a packed corridor of a public school. But the first-of-its-kind scholarship to the prestigious, previously all-alpha Gotham Academy should have foretold the sort of welcome Jason was in for. It was only his own naivety to blame, really. 

“How are you settling in, Jason?” Mr Wayne asks, all warmth and kind tones. 

Jason hunches his shoulders and shrugs. “Well enough.” 

“No trouble with the other boys?” 

The other boys had been as difficult as was to be expected. Introducing an omega into a newly co-ed boarding school was bound to cause disruption, bound to unearth some instilled prejudices. It didn’t help that Jason’s background made him an even easier target. 

He was shouldering it as best he could, carving out small, temporary friendships whenever the opportunities presented themselves. He’d helped out a few classmates with their homework, offered to clean up after a few dormmates before inspections, and given the last bowl of neapolitan ice cream away to another boy once. He knew how to study diligently, how to make a bed perfectly, how to give generously. Maybe it was giving him a reputation as a pushover, but Jason would take that over the snickers and whispers any day of the week. 

It didn’t matter that it was nearly textbook omega behaviour. During these turbulent, early pubescent years, it wasn’t unusual for a teacher to roll their eyes and dismiss Jason’s quiet, reserved nature as submissive. Just as much as it was commonplace to excuse the shoving and the scathing remarks and the bolstering from the other alpha boys. 

Jason didn’t like to draw attention to it, or to himself. Mr Wayne was the only teacher who commanded universal respect in his classroom. It was part of why Jason had been so thrilled to be accelerated into his English class, keen to show his passion for literature to a teacher who seemed to value him for his mind over his designation. 

Then Mr Wayne’s bright, enthusiastic praise turned to encouraging pats on his shoulder, to a coaxing palm on his back, to a pressing hand above the curve of his ass. Jason had folded into it all, eager for a guiding presence in the mess of his new life, an anchor in the swell of new surroundings. 

The first time Mr Wayne had asked Jason to clean off the board, settling back on one of the front row desks to watch him take up the duster, Jason hadn’t thought anything of it. Hadn’t questioned when he’d risen to clasp Jason’s hand in his own, guiding him through the slow strokes of Shakespeare’s sonnets. 

Jason’s fingers had trembled on the chalk, that first time. But not the second. Nor the third, when Mr Wayne’s fingers had strayed from their rest on his hip to the waistband of Jason’s ironed shorts. Not the countless times that followed, hands slipping lower and deeper. 

“No trouble, sir,” Jason mumbles, picking at the sleeve of his uniform shirt. 

Mr Wayne hums, those bright blue eyes warm above that not-quite-there smile. “Have you been practicing that homework I gave you?” 

Jason squirms, nailing digging into his bicep. That low timbre has an unnerving way of turning Jason’s stomach to jelly, scrambling his thoughts and emotions at just the sound. “I practiced the recitations, like you asked.” 

There’s a pause, like Mr Wayne’s waiting for Jason to elaborate. Then he prompts, “And your diction exercises?” 

Jason can feel the heat spilling over his cheekbones. The very tips of his ears feel hot at the memory of him kneeling in the third floor library bathroom, a copy of King Lear on the tile between his knees, stammering through Act III. Palm wrapped around the weeping length of his hard cock, jumping anytime he heard someone move past the door outside. 

It’d taken three tries before he had gotten through it without a single hitch, and by then Jason’s tears had stained the collar of his shirt. The orgasm had been a godsend, scouring him raw as he’d shuddered through it. Biting hard into his palm to stifle his whimpers as he’d taken his reward as Mr Wayne had instructed - only once he’d succeeded at his assigned task. 

Jason had done it again, with the same copy, and then once more with a dog-eared printout of Macbeth. Edging himself each time until he could get through the entire monologue without a single stumble. 

Mr Wayne chuckles, sparing him from the embarrassment of answering. Jason’s not sure he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from preening at his teacher’s praise. 

“How would you feel if I gave you another extra credit assignment?” 

Jason tries not to look too eager, tries to cool the flush on his cheek and the way he’s half hard at the mere _suggestion._ “Yes please, sir,” he answers quietly, keeping his gaze on his neat handwriting, laid out on the desk. 

Mr Wayne’s smile is broad, melting the last of Jason’s defensiveness. “What a good boy.” 

* * *

“Are you ready for another?” Mr Wayne asks, and Jason pants through the discomfort, blinking back perspiration as he tries to focus on the words on the board. The whine that rings up through his throat is involuntary, loud in the emptiness of the classroom. Beyond the windows, the fields are growing dark, shadowed with the orange of dusk. 

His gaze flicks upward, past the trembling crown of Jason’s head, to where his hands are fisted on the desk. Mr Wayne clears his throat softly, before reciting with perfectly measured diction: 

“ _This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air / Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself / Unto our gentle senses_.” 

Jason moans, rocking back onto the thick finger that spears him, keening remorsefully when it withdraws to circle the flushed edges of his entrance. Teasing him as the scent of his slick wafts through the air, mixing with the freesia blooming beyond the open windows. 

Even though the caress of April air on his skin is pleasantly cool, Jason can’t help but shiver as Mr Wayne toys with the wetness clinging to his slit. His trouser leg must be soaked through with it by now, with all the squirming Jason’s been doing on the length of his finger. 

It pushes all thoughts to the very edge of his grasp when that digit presses back in, joined by a second that teases what little leeway remains as Jason bites down on a whimper. 

“Jason,” that soft timbre urges, and Jason starts at the reminder. 

He opens his eyes, unsure exactly when he closed them, and exhales shakily as he races to locate their place on the page. 

Then he reads, on increasingly tremulous notes, “ _This guest of summer / The temple-haunting martlet, does approve / By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath / Smells wooingly here…_ ” 

It trembles off in a whisper as Jason clenches down, consumed with the stretch of the finger that breaches him, wider than he thought possible until it settles alongside the first, held snugly inside his small body. 

Mr Wayne’s other hand pets down his flank, squeezing at Jason’s narrow waist, playing with the edge of his dress shirt where it’s ridden up with all his squirming. His palm is warm, faintly calloused as Jason leans into the contact. 

“Keep going,” he instructs softly, fingers moving slowly inside the omega. Jason keens, smothering it in a bitten lip as he lifts watering eyes to the page. 

“ _But this bird / Hath made_ \- please, sir.” 

Mr Wayne hums, the sound a low growl in the base of his chest, thrumming through all of Jason as he curtails a sob. Those fingers are so broad, filling him entirely, that he shakes his head firmly when a third nudges his entrance. 

His hand goes to Mr Wayne’s forearm, a brace and an anchor as he shakes adamantly. “Sir, please, no, I’m not ready.” 

“Silly boy,” Mr Wayne coos, but it’s fond where Jason expects chastisement. “This is to prepare you, to ensure you’re ready.” 

Jason whines, knees catching on the underside of the desk when he twitches at the press of that third finger. His teacher’s hand shifts, large palm swamping Jason’s back when he pins him to the wood, poised just above the curve of his red ass. 

“Do I need to spank you again?” 

Jason, trembling from something that isn’t fear but still makes his stomach feel floorless, shakes his head. “No, sir.” 

“There’s a good boy.” 

And then that digit is pressing in, so wide it opens Jason’s jaw, has him moaning softly in response. Everything else flees, his only thought of where Mr Wayne fucks slowly into him with treasured, tempered fingers. 

“Did you lose your place, Jason?” 

Jason mumbles incoherently, twitching and clenching on those fingers. 

A shift, and then Mr Wayne presses a kiss to the soft, flushed flesh of his ass, and then the other cheek. Jason wilts at the tenderness. 

He draws himself together, gripping the workbook with trembling hands as he searches for his place. “ _But this bird,_ ” he starts again, voice wavering around the words, _“Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle / Where they most breed-_ ” 

Above him, Mr Wayne groans, those lips brushing down the curve of Jason’s cheek to kiss the skin above where his fingers disappear, lathering Jason with affection when he sucks softly on the boy’s slit. 

It sends a spike of pleasure up through Jason, all of him pulsing around the sensation. He can’t help the way he squirms, workbook forgotten as he fucks back on Mr Wayne’s thick digits. He feels undone, driven crazy, the urge to rut unsated even when Mr Wayne pins him down and presses impossibly deeper, driving Jason to cry for an unobtainable relief. 

His hand shifts to smother Jason’s over the workbook, his lips brushing up the length of Jason’s spine as he arches back into his teacher’s touch, chasing that perfect present for him. 

Mr Wayne groans at the tight clench Jason invokes, the sound rumbling through the low notes as he reads, “ _Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed / The air is delicate._ ” 

“Please, sir,” Jason whispers, burying his tear-soaked eyes in his forearm. His other hand is wrapped around Mr Wayne’s wrist, flexing every time the man pumps into him. “Please breed me, please, I need-” 

“Good boy,” Mr Wayne murmurs against Jason’s spine, inhaling the clean soap of his detergent, nose pressed to his clothing in lieu of Jason’s bared neck. The scrape of his teeth saps all the strength out of Jason’s muscles. He slumps into the wood of the desk with a gentle sob, toes curling in his polished shoes as he’s fucked over the edge of his orgasm. 

His cum splatters the tile beneath the desk, between Mr Wayne’s own shoes as Jason cries through it. He’s not sure he can contain the overwhelming force of his climax, his tiny body rattling through the waves as Mr Wayne’s motions slow to deep slides. 

“What a wonderful boy,” Mr Wayne says, hoarse like he’s the one who came, like Jason’s the one to pull all sanity from him. “You sound beautiful, Jason.” 

“I p-practiced,” Jason struggles to articulate. But he needs Mr Wayne to know how much effort he’s been putting in these past days. Needs him to know how much he’s _earned_ his teacher’s praise. “Just like you asked, I did. So much, I practiced so-” 

His words rattle into an oversensitized shout when those spearing fingers scissor him, stretching him to his limit. Mr Wayne’s groan is bone-rattling, piercing through Jason’s core when he buries it against the boy’s bared spine. 

Then they’re withdrawing, slow as they scrape Jason’s sensitive walls, making him arch and gasp. The hand smothering his keeps him from chasing them, especially when it wraps around his midsection to grasp his cock. 

There’s no strength behind it, no movement. Just the weight and heat of his soft length resting in Mr Wayne’s palm as his teacher pants and collects himself. 

“Best clean yourself up,” he says finally, withdrawing from Jason completely, and the boy aches for it. “They’ll be expecting you in the mess hall shortly.” 

Jason nods hesitantly, reaching for his shorts where they hang open around his knees when his feet drop back to the hardwood. He glances at Mr Wayne as he buckles his belt, watching him clean his hands on a monogrammed handkerchief that he tucks into his jacket pocket. 

The pit of his stomach churns, guilt touching the edges of his glow. Enough that, with a flush, he entreats, “I’m sorry, sir.” 

Mr Wayne looks up, surprise lining his dark brows, and Jason’s chest clenches. 

His gaze dives swiftly for his shoes, and he shoves the next words out in a rush. “That I couldn’t take you,” Jason explains, hands fisting in the material of his untucked shirt as he frets. “That I wasn’t ready. That I’m too-” 

Those arms, thick and warm and inviting, embrace him, pulling Jason’s head into the shadow of Mr Wayne’s bosom as he pets through Jason’s dark curls. “Hush, my boy. You did beautifully.” 

Jason feels tears brimming again, so he sniffles and swallows the feeling down. 

Mr Wayne hears it anyway, stepping back to crouch down to Jason’s height, look up into his blue-green eyes when he says, “You have to be patient. The day will come when your body will be ready for me. And I’m looking forward to it, so very much.” 

Jason nods, nose wrinkling as he tries to fend off more tears. The words do galvanise him though, stoking that small, special flame in the centre of his chest. 

“Until then,” Mr Wayne continues, with one of his very rare smiles. The sort he saves only for their time together, for Jason. “We’ll keep practicing, hmm?” 

The nod this time is more enthusiastic, more solemn. “Yes, sir.” 

“There’s a good boy,” Mr Wayne agrees, stroking Jason’s cheek with one massive thumb, before he gestures to the door. “Hurry along, now.” 

Jason gathers his workbook, stuffing it into his worn satchel, all but sprinting over the loud hardwood to hesitate in the doorway. When he glances back, Mr Wayne is smiling again, framed by the last red of the setting sun. 

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Jaylad.” 

Jason grins. 

**Author's Note:**

> [ ](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah)


End file.
